-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I Should be Ashamed

Have you ever looked down at the top of a soda can just as it was about to meet your lips only to see a whole level of nastiness tucked up under the aluminum lip of the can near the drinking spout? Yeah, that just happened to me, and I realized as I scraped the crap out of the lip that I�d probably consumed an immeasurable amount of unknown debris over my lifetime due to the numerous times I might not have noticed the nastiness on my can. Now I know there are a lot of people out there who are much smarter than me who either wipe the lip of the can off every time prior to drinking or refuse to drink out of cans completely (ahem Taerna), but I am not one of those people. Anyhow, I think I was only paying attention today because something has snapped in me in the past couple of days and I�m not digging the Diet Coke like I used to last week. In fact, I�ve regressed completely to the point where I am drinking Mountain Dew. Alas, I have managed to stick to the Diet Mountain Dew, but it had been maybe since my days at The Greatest Company That Ever Lived � since I�d drank a Mountain Dew. What is even more pathetic is that I associate drinking Mountain Dew with being active, youthful and creative and Diet Coke with being corporate. Dear God I place too much thought into my soda choices.

Last night, I had an experience that was a bit embarrassing and it is all Ryan�s fault. All of it. I had talked to him at about 5:30 pm about our plans for the evening, and he indicated that he planned to leave work around 6:00 pm. We discussed a piece of paperwork that needed to be signed for the realtor, a problem with the front door at his house, what we might eat, what we might paint, etc. When we hung up, all I could think about was going to the bathroom, but instead I kept working planning to head out in just a few minutes more. Finally, just before 6:30, I packed up my belongings and hit the door. When I pulled into my driveway, I saw the realtor, who happens to be a neighbor, walking back towards her house, and a man sitting on my porch. Nothing registered.

I got out of the car, and finally the man sitting on my porch swing turned and I recognized him as Ryan�s parents financial advisor who had met with us once last year at about this same time. Racking my brain, I finally remembered Ryan mentioning that he might set up an appointment with this guy, but he never specified when. It appears the appointment had been set for 6:30 pm last night, and here it was 6:40 and I was just arriving at my own house. And Ryan was nowhere to be seen. As I approached the porch, I realized with horror that I was only 70% positive that this man�s name was Gary. Or it could have been Greg. Maybe Gary. SHIT! I played it off like I knew I was expecting him, apologized for running late, and stated factually that I had expected that Ryan would have been home by now. As I let Gary/Greg into the house, my level of horror elevated. We had decided on Saturday after the German Sheetrockers left that we would do all the painting then do a thorough cleaning of the house. Translation, trash the house until the work is done. As Gary/Greg and I entered the house, I peered around at the roll of carpet lying in the entry hall way, the sheets shrouding the desk, the tarp tossed aside the TV and the pizza box lying next to the coffee table. On top of all of it was a thin layer of white dust. Lovely.

I showed Gary/Greg into the dining room, drug a stack of papers past his spot at the table leaving a somewhat clean swipe of tabletop for him to use and offered him a glass of water from the kitchen. He graciously accepted then asked to use the bathroom directly off the dining room. The bathroom with the uber-thin door that allows you to hear everything including an ex-roommate who once chose to take a dump while my Dad and Paco were enjoying their dinner at the table RIGHT NEXT TO THE BATHROOM. And when I say chose, she did choose, because at that point there was another functioning toilet in the house that she had chosen to use many times before but for some reason, she chose to do her business in the presence of my family during dinner where she knew she would be heard. Super ew. Shake it off � back to the topic.

Gary/Greg used the bathroom while I got him a glass of water. As I filled the glass, a horrible thought occurred to me. Just the night before, I had stripped down and stumbled blearily into the shower leaving my paint covered clothing and UNDERWEAR in the bathroom. Ryan followed suit as he, too was too lazy and exhausted to clean up after himself. Gary/Greg exited the nasty bathroom pit, and I provided him with a glass of water. By now it was almost 7:00 pm and still no sign of Ryan. Then the phone rings. It is Ryan.

Mind you this whole time, I am not at all confident that his name is really Greg. I looked at him tentatively, but he didn�t correct me, so we went on with the discussion. He asked for a tour of the house, and I obliged him, not remembering that there was a toilet smack dab in the center of what will soon be the master bedroom. I�m sure he�s called Ryan�s mom right now to tell her that her new daughter-in-law is a horrible housekeeper. I am a horrible housekeeper, but this display of nasty was particularly bad. Super suck. On top of that, because of the location of the bathroom and the proximity of Greg's seat to the bathroom door, I was prohibited from using the bathroom until almost 8:00 pm. I was floating!!!

Anyhow, since I woke up this morning, I have had an incredible urge to clean to avoid future mishaps like that one. Of course I�m going out of town for the next three days, so finding time to clean will be difficult. I did make the tiny shit ass guest bed that we�ve been sleeping in for the past week. Talk about a clear message � that bed tells our house guests leave soon and don�t come back. It needs to find its way to the curb!

2:53 p.m. - March 29, 2005

previous - next